


Anyone Can Drive a Car...

by dark_def (dedicatedfollower467)



Series: Smells Like Belonging [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (heart eyes emoji), Adults doing their best, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Lesbian Character, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Middle School, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Pack Bonding, Panic Attacks, Sadstuck, Sexual Assault, Trauma, Worldbuilding, tbqh idk how to tag for what happens? check notes for more info
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dark_def
Summary: ...But it Takes Someone Special to Drive a School BusIt was supposed to be a typical Thursday for Anne Bradford, and it starts as one. Wrangling kids is her whole life - both at home and at work - and she loves every second of it, even when kids can be annoying.Then the inexplicable happens, when one of her charges goes into heat on her bus.
Series: Smells Like Belonging [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592716
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	Anyone Can Drive a Car...

**Author's Note:**

> So I tagged this fic as "sexual assault" to be safe but that's not reeeeeeally what happens? Jump down to the End Notes for spoilerific trigger warning stuff.
> 
> I didn't originally intend to write this fic, but then it just kind of erupted out of me over the course of a few hours, and it drops a couple of pretty important worldbuilding tidbits for this AU, so I thought, why not post it?
> 
> This is an alternate POV to a scene from the first fic in this series, [A Brother's Love.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783811/chapters/51979093) I don't _think_ you have to read that one first to understand what's happening in this fic, but it will definitely give you a lot more context about what's happening here. (That being said, I completely understand if people don't want to read A Brother's Love.)

It was just supposed to be a typical Thursday.

The alarm goes off at the crack of dawn, and as soon as the first blare rings out you snap a hand over to your bedside table to shut it off. Lori works so late these days, you don’t want to wake her up early. She hums as you rise from the bed, and you can’t help but give in to the temptation to kiss your mate on the cheek, just barely brushing your lips against her skin.

One day, they’ll legalize same-sex marriages for Betas, even here in Texas, and on that day, you and Lori will be first in line at the courthouse. Until then, you’ll kiss her cheek in the mornings and try not to let your alarm wake her up.

Your brother walks in the front door just as you get to the kitchen and start making breakfast. He looks half asleep, fiddling absent-mindedly with his night guard’s baton, stumbling like a zombie as he locks up.

“Morning, Eddie,” you say. “Rough night?”

“Morning, Annie,” he replies, settling himself down at the kitchen table. “Coupla teenagers messing around, graffiti-ing up the walls and stuff. Not as bad as it could have been.”

“I still think you need to get a new job,” you tell him. “Working night shifts isn’t any good for you, and you practically never get to see your own kids.”

Eddie rubs his eyes. “Next time you find a job opening for a high school dropout that _doesn’t_ work night shifts, you let me know.”

It’s an old argument, and not one you want to retread right now. You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and turn to him.

“If you finish up here, I’ll go wake the kids,” you say, and don’t really bother to wait for his nod before heading for your nieces’ and nephew’s room.

Your nephew, the youngest of Eddie’s kids, is already awake and standing in the hallway, which isn’t really unusual for a two-year-old but still surprises you every time. He holds his hands out to you and you pick him up, ruffling his dark, curly hair and rubbing your cheek on his, scent-marking him.

“All right, you little monster,” you say. “Let me wake your sisters, and then we’ll change that diaper.”

Waking the girls up requires stretching up onto your tiptoes to reach the top bunk, to rub Gracie’s shoulder and gently shake her until she stirs - entirely one-handed, since you’re still holding Hunter on one hip - and bending down and almost crawling into the veritable nest that Allie has made of her pillows and stuffed animals so you can do the same for her. Intellectually, you know that childhood behaviors aren’t perfect indicators of secondary sex development, but if Allie doesn’t wind up an Omega when she presents, you’ll eat your hat.

“Hey, sweetie,” you say to Allie as Gracie climbs down the ladder, grumbling the whole way to the bathroom. “It’s time to get up for school.”

Allie yawns, stretches, and leans up for a scent-marking with both you and Hunter. You smile, giving her a quick cheek rub with your wrist, and little Hunter grabs her face with both hands and rubs his whole head around hers, a toddler’s clumsy imitation of his caregivers.

These peaceful, innocent moments are quickly lost in the rush of getting ready for school. You help Allie get dressed, Hunter tagging at your heels, and then you’re braiding Gracie’s hair because she’s having trouble doing it herself, and then you have to check the sack lunches because Eddie has a bad habit of giving the kids nothing but junk food when he makes them because he spoils them rotten, and then Allie’s lost her homework so it’s a frantic search until you find the piece of paper hiding under the living room couch, and by the time you’re kissing the kids and your brother goodbye, rubbing your cheek against each of theirs for a scent-marking, you’re nearly going to be late for work.

Thankfully, you roll into the bus lot with a minute and a half to spare, and dashing to the machine lets you clock in right on time. Your coworker, Bill, raises an eyebrow at you, the way he does practically every morning, but you just roll your eyes at him and head out to your bus. After a thorough inspection, you deem it safe to drive, make a mark on your checklist, and begin your route.

At the first stop, you pick up seven kids, including a fourth grader named Jamie and his little brother, who is also called Hunter, just like your nephew. They are often a handful, and you can tell they’re planning on picking fights with each other this morning, so you keep half an eye on them as you drive to your next pick-up.

Sure enough, within five minutes, bus-Hunter starts screaming about Jamie hurting him, and Jamie hollers back that he didn’t do _anything_ Miss Anne, he swears, Hunter’s _lying_. You park the bus, open the doors for the next batch of kids, and try to enforce discipline.

“Jamie, Hunter, you two are gonna have to play nice, or I won’t let you sit together,” you say, like you tell them every day. “Don’t pinch or poke your brother, it’s not nice.”

You’ve considered just forcing them to sit in separate seats from the beginning, but their mother is an anxious, single, unbonded Omega who had nearly refused to let them ride the bus alone until you had a frank conversation with her about their safety. She’s really pounded in that they have to protect each other and can’t ever wander off alone, and have to stay close to you, which is why they sit in the seat directly behind you.

“But Miss Anne, I didn’t _do_ anything,” Jamie whines, and you have to split your attention between making sure you’re picking up the right kids at this bus stop and the brothers who are _still_ pinching and poking each other.

“Don’t you lie to me, Jamie,” you say.

“Tattletale,” Jamie hisses at Hunter, poking him in the ribs.

“What did I just say, Jamie Miller?” you say, doing your best not to snap at him.

Eventually you get the two of them to settle down and start driving the bus again. You feel for Stacey Miller, you really do, but you might have to talk with her about letting her boys have a little more independence, at least enough to keep them from picking at each other constantly.

At the next stop, you find yourself wrinkling your nose, trying to identify an odd scent. It’s sweet, but almost overly so, with an equally sour tang, like someone left fruit to rot in the sun. You can’t quite tell, but it smells almost like it’s coming from somewhere in the bus, and you wonder if some kid left behind a bag of strawberries a few weeks ago that you’ve somehow missed when you clean.

The scent doesn’t let up for the whole ride, which means it’s definitely coming from somewhere inside the bus. You might have to give a speech this afternoon reminding the kids about the rules for bringing food on the bus. Boy, you are _really_ not looking forward to cleaning up whatever mess is making that stink.

At the school, you open the doors, and exchange a cheerful, “Have a nice day!” “You, too, Miss Anne!” with each kid as they disembark. The line files past you, leaving only one kid left on the bus, dragging his feet.

Dave Strider is a sweet kid, despite his foul mouth, which you’re certain he gets from his intimidating older brother. He worries you, though. He gets bullied a lot, you’re pretty sure, because he dresses strangely and has a lot of weird, niche interests, and lives with his brother instead of his parents, and because kids can be incredibly cruel.

And you know he wears the glasses for a medical condition, and that the same condition means he bruises very easily, but part of you feels uneasy whenever you see the purpling spots and thin scrapes on his arms and legs. Yeah, he’s an active kid, but sometimes you consider bringing your concerns about Dave’s wellbeing to the school social worker. It wouldn’t be the first time. You’ve been a bus driver for fifteen years.

He walks past you, looking pale and sweaty, and at first you wonder if he’s nervous about a test or something, because you’ve never seen him look so shaken before. As he passes by, about to walk down the steps, he flashes you a weak smile and gives you a two-fingered Cub Scout salute.

The scent of rotten strawberries hits you full in the face, and you put two and two together in an instant. You shoot your arm out without thinking, catching his elbow, as you inhale.

That scent? That’s distressed Omega. Moreover, that’s distressed Omega _in a full-blown heat_.

“Oh Dave, sweetheart, you can’t go to school like that,” you say, wondering how you could have _missed_ this and why on _earth_ a ten-year-old is standing on your bus in full heat, why he isn’t safe at home with his pack.

Dave’s face is frozen in shock, and you smell fear coming off him in waves. “I - What?” he says, sounding like he’s not focusing on the here and now at all.

“You’re in heat, hon,” you say gently. You’re close enough right now that you can see through his sunglasses, and you watch as his eyes slowly glaze over.

In theory, there’s a procedure for a kid going into heat or rut on your bus. In practice, you’ve never had to use it, not in fifteen years, and right now, you can’t remember it. Dave smells terrified, and Gracie is just about his age, and for half a second you imagine your niece going into a first heat unexpectedly, surrounded by strangers, far from home, and your stomach drops.

You stand, place your hands gently on Dave’s shoulders. “I’m going to take you to the school nurse, hon,” you say, feeling him tremble. “She’ll call your big brother and get him to come pick you up. I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

You lead Dave out of the bus, practically holding him up when he nearly stumbles on the steps. His legs are shaking, and you have no idea how long he’s been in full heat, but if he’s this weak already, it has to have been before he got onto your bus, which means he’s probably been in pre-heat since yesterday.

Which means his pack should have been guarding and protecting him, not letting him _go into public in the middle of his heat._

A flash of anger fills you, and Dave shudders in response to your changed scent, letting out the quietest whimper. Your heart breaks.

“Oh, Dave, hon, I’m sorry, shh, it’s all right,” you say, rubbing his back like you do for Gracie and Allie whenever they have nightmares. “Let’s get you to the nurse.”

Leading Dave through the school is surprisingly nerve-wracking. Dave isn’t your pack, by any stretch of the word, and in truth you barely know him. But you’ve always been empathetic, and quick to bond, and good with kids, and your protective instincts are rearing up in defense of this very distressed child, this child who is your responsibility, under your care.

This means that every time a kid or teacher even glances your direction, you feel yourself aching to bear your teeth in threat. Instead you glare at them and hustle Dave along a little more quickly.

Dave is making garbled, panicked noises now, that you can’t make out, and he’s getting more and more agitated by the minute. You keep shushing him, trying to reassure him, but every touch seems to make him more and more upset, despite how gentle you are right now.

Lori’s a Beta, and Eddie’s a Beta, and your nieces and nephew are too young to present, so the last time you were around a presenting Omega was when you were only a year out from presenting, yourself. Despite that, you’re certain there’s nothing normal about this situation.

With an unexpected burst of strength and speed, Dave suddenly jerks away from you, running blindly towards one of the classrooms. He’s saying something you can’t really make out, maybe a word or just a plea for help, staggering about, looking like he’s going to fall over at any minute.

He doesn’t get far. As he trips and starts to fall, you catch him, pulling him into a desperate hug, because this is a child who _needs_ you, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes as he thrashes in your grip, smacking his fists against you.

You’re his bus driver. You _ought_ to be a trusted adult, someone he, as a child and recently-presented Omega, can come to for help, comfort and safety. Even in the midst of a public heat, you would have thought his instincts would consider you trustworthy enough to transport him back to his pack.

Instead, you realize, as he abruptly goes limp in your arms, Dave’s instincts have classified you as a sexual threat.

His submission is heartbreaking, makes you feel guilty, like a monster, and tears start to spill down your cheeks. You can still smell the terror pouring off of him, still feel the shudders and trembling which wrack his whole body, but he is lax and pliant, letting you do literally anything you want to him. As far as his instincts are concerned, this is the best way to avoid injury when you… mate him.

You stand, cradling Dave like a baby, and he’s so slight, so skinny, so small, that he feels like a child half his age, no older than Allie. He can’t be eating right. You think you can feel his ribs through his shirt, every bump on his spine.

Every moment you’ve spent with Dave today makes you more and more furious with his guardian.

You point yourself with single-minded determination at the nurse’s office, not stopping or looking aside until you reach it. You fling the door open with greater force than you intended, and it bounces off the wall behind it, almost smacking both you and Dave in the face.

The nurse flinches and scrambles to her feet, her eyes wide. “What on --” she begins, and then she cuts herself off, her mouth gaping.

“He needs help,” you say, holding him out to her.

She beckons you into a small, curtained-off area behind her desk, and opens up a pop-up cot.

“Lay him down here,” she says, indicating the cot, and you do, setting him down on his back, as gently as you can.

When he rolls over onto his stomach, pushing his head into the cot and lifting his hips just slightly, offering himself up to you, you want to vomit.

“What happened?” the nurse says, her voice sharp.

“He’s… he was in heat on my bus, I only realized as he was disembarking,” you babble. “I was only bringing him straight here, I swear, but he tried to run away from me and then he… he went limp.”

She frowns, looking down at him. “I’m going to have to document this and call his guardians,” she says. “The school will have to conduct an investigation.”

Which means you’re probably going to lose your job, never mind that you never intended to hurt him. You obviously _did_ hurt him, even if it was only accidental. You didn’t follow the correct procedures for taking care of a kid in heat.

 _I should have paid more attention_ , you think to yourself. _I should have noticed this the moment he tried to board the bus. This is all my fault._

“His name is Dave Strider, he’s in the fifth grade,” you say. “I can go back to my bus and grab my checklist, give you his student number…”

“Name and grade should be enough,” she says, heading out to the front office area and sitting down in front of her computer. You follow her, hovering awkwardly, still fixated on the smell of Dave’s distress behind the curtain. “And what was your name?”

“Anne Bradford, bus number 09413,” you say.

She scribbles something down, then looks up at you. “You can go now,” she says.

You hesitate for a moment at the threshold. “Will he be okay?” you ask.

She gives you a level look, that says you’re not allowed to have that information. Shamefully, you leave the nurse’s office.

You go back to your bus, drive it to the lot almost on autopilot. You do a sweep of the bus, clean up anything left behind, Dave’s distressed scent lingering like a ghastly reminder of what you did. As you’re stepping out to your car, you get a call from the school administrator, informing you that you’ve been suspended without pay and your shifts this afternoon and for the foreseeable future will be covered by a reserve bus driver.

Numbly, you drive home, go back to the little apartment you share with your partner and brother. Lori and Hunter are sitting together on the living room floor, playing with his blocks.

Lori takes one look at you and immediately gets to her feet, holding her hands out to you for a hug, face creased with concern.

“Rough day at work, hon?” she asks you.

As you collapse into your mate’s arms, bawling, you realize that it’s not even ten o’clock yet.

It was just supposed to be a typical Thursday.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilerific trigger warnings: Miss Anne tries to help Dave, who has gone into heat. Unfortunately, she doesn't know exactly what she's doing, and Dave isn't in the most stable place, mentally or emotionally, so even though she never does anything that people would consider sexually inappropriate, Dave ends up reacting to her like she's a potential mate, and submits and "presents" to her. Anne feels awful about his reaction and never intended to harm him - and frankly, it's not 100% her fault, most of this is on Bro (but she doesn't know that.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! The more I write in this universe the more it's shaping up to be an absolutely _massive_ fic series, so keep your eyes peeled!


End file.
